By the next morning, the Odditorium had been transformed for Potts’s funeral. Enormous garlands of crepe-paper roses in tasteful black and white were draped throughout the room. A large podium, hastily constructed but covered in plush black velvet, dominated the stage, and beside it stood various enormous funeral wreaths: arrangements of lilies and orchids, baby’s breath and chrysanthemums. It must, Thomas thought, have cost Mr. Dumfrey a fortune.

Memorial cards bearing an image of Potts scowling slightly less than usual were fanned across various surfaces, and Thomas noted that interspersed with them were pamphlets advertising the museum’s exhibits. Thomas couldn’t repress a smile as he heard Mr. Dumfrey ushering people into their seats.

“A sad day, a very sad day for all of us. Of course the museum must stay closed today, out of respect for poor Potts. This is no time to gape and gawk at our world-famous display of Indian arrowheads, the largest collection in the world! The Aztec mummy exhibit must stay closed; it’s an emotional time, and we can’t have the ladies fainting. And of course it would be in very poor taste to open up our brand-new Basement of Horrors, considering the terrible end Potts came to, before he has even had a good Christian burial. What a sight . . . the way he frothed at the mouth . . . the way he screamed! We’ll have a reenactment, of course. You can even lie down on the mattress where he died. But not until tomorrow. Today we grieve, and we remember. Ah, Mr. Evans, there you are!”

The museum was packed. Mr. Dumfrey’s recent arrest, combined with the ongoing mystery of Potts’s murder and the sensation of the shrunken head, made for a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for publicity. Thomas was sure most of the people in the room didn’t care at all about Potts; they only wanted to stare at Dumfrey and gawk at the extraordinary children who had been so often in the papers.

Which was why he, Sam, Pippa, and Max were hiding backstage.

“Dumfrey’s talking to Evans,” reported Max, who was picking popcorn kernels out of her teeth. She was peeking out at the audience from behind the heavy purple curtains and reporting on what she saw. “Now he’s getting his picture taken. . . .”

“Oh, look. Freckles came!” Pippa was also spying on the audience as it assembled. Freckles was their nickname for the famous sculptor Siegfried Eckleberger, who had modeled most of the faces in the Hall of Wax and had, additionally, been like a grandfather to Pippa, Sam, and Thomas. “I wish he hadn’t, though. I still haven’t finished the book he lent me and I’m sure he’ll ask me about it. Wait. Is that the mayor?” She nearly spat out her soda.

“No way. The mayor’s fatter. Oh no. I don’t believe it.”

“What is it?” Thomas had been lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling and thinking. He kept feeling as though he was missing something. Now he sat up.

Max turned around. Her face was pale. “It’s that bloodsucker, Andrea von Snoot.”

“Von Stikk,” Pippa corrected her.

“Whatever. The crazy lady from the Home for Extraordinary Children, or whatever it’s called. What do you want to bet she came just to give us a hard time?”

“Detective Hardaway came,” Pippa said with disgust. “What’s he doing here?”

But before Thomas could respond, the lights dimmed and Mr. Dumfrey took the stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages,” his voice boomed out in the room, which had suddenly gone very quiet. “We are gathered here today to say farewell to a man who was known by all and beloved by even more . . . a man as brave as he was handsome . . . as sensitive as he was brave . . . and as generous as he was beloved.”

The children exchanged a look. Potts had never, to their knowledge, shown even the slightest evidence of being any of those things.

Mr. Dumfrey whipped a handkerchief—also black—from his suit pocket and began dabbing his eyes furiously. “And now, to say a few words, I present to you the bereaved brother of our poor, lost friend . . . Mr. Ernst Potts.”

“I didn’t know Potts had a brother,” Pippa whispered.

“Neither did I,” Thomas whispered back.

The brother who came shuffling on the stage was nearly identical to the brother who had passed away. His mouth was set in a deep scowl, and he was wearing the same outfit of heavy work boots, gray trousers, and a floppy cap pulled low over watery blue eyes. Dumfrey retreated from the podium and gestured for Ernst to take his place. For a moment there was total silence. Then Ernst coughed.

“I didn’t like my brother all that much,” he said. “To be fair and straight with you, he was a mean little turd.” The audience began to murmur, and Ernst raised his voice to be heard. “But he didn’t deserve the ending he got.” He fished a flask out from his jacket and raised it high. “To my brother, Dervish. I hope wherever you are, the floors are spotlessly clean.”

“Beautiful!” Mr. Dumfrey stepped forward again, dabbing his eyes with his handkerchief. “Magnificent! Well said! To Potts! May your eternal cup overfloweth! And now—please join us for light refreshments in the Hall of Worldwide Wonders. You’ll find sandwiches to the right of the largest collection of fossilized dinosaur eggs in existence, and cookies just past the display case containing the world’s biggest hairball, disgorged from the belly of an Asian water buffalo. Please—take a pamphlet! Remember, tomorrow it’s back to business as usual, opening at ten a.m., closing at seven p.m., and nothing but wonder and magic in between. But today we reflect! We remember! We—ah, yes, Mr. Mayor, I’d love to pose for a picture.”

The gears of Thomas’s brain had finally become unstuck. He turned to Sam. “Dervish Potts,” he said. “D. Potts. Do you know what that means?”

“He had a terrible name?” Sam ventured.

“Hardaway told Dumfrey that Mr. Anderson had an appointment the day he died. Appointment with D.,” Thomas said. “What do you wanna bet he meant Dervish?”

“But where does that get us?” Pippa said. “Even if Potts did meet with Mr. Anderson, we can’t prove it. And we still don’t know what happened to that head.”

“Children!” Mr. Dumfrey was gesturing to them frantically from the stage. “What are you doing back there? Come here! This instant!”

They emerged cautiously out of the wings. Instantly, Dumfrey threw his arms around them and ushered them to the center of the stage. “That’s right, that’s right. In the spotlight, where you belong. You’re my star performers! Max, get that toothpick out of your mouth. Remember to smile. I said smile, Sam. You look like you’re about to have a tooth extracted.”

There was a sudden explosion of camera flashes, and Thomas was blinded. Spots of color swam in front of his eyes. Disembodied voices called out: “Over here! Look over here!”

Suddenly, Thomas saw a monstrous bird bearing down on them. No. Not a bird, but something much worse: Andrea von Stikk, wearing a feather hat.

“Mr. Dumfrey,” she said with a look of distaste, as if the name were a dirty word. “Up to your usual tricks, I see. Parading these poor children in front of the crowds like little lambs offered up for sacrifice.”

“Miss von Stikk.” Mr. Dumfrey greeted her with a stiff bow. “What a pleasant surprise. I didn’t expect to see you here. I rather thought you were too busy torturing children with their multiplication tables.”

She smiled thinly. “Education is never torture, Mr. Dumfrey,” she said. “And I’m here on official business.” She withdrew from her large purse a stack of papers and slapped them in Mr. Dumfrey’s hands. “A court petition,” she said, as he fumbled for his glasses, “for the removal of the children from your custody.”

“What?” Thomas nearly choked on his tongue.

Mr. Dumfrey lowered his glasses. His face was white. “You won’t get away with this.”

“I most certainly will,” Miss von Stikk said. Her beady black eyes glittered dangerously. “You may have been cleared by the police, Mr. Dumfrey, but I can assure you the court of public opinion has found you guilty many times over. I will not sit by and let you corrupt these four extraordinary children. These angels belong with— Ahhhhhh!”

As she spoke, Miss von Stikk placed a hand on Max’s shoulder. Instantly, Max whipped the toothpick from her mouth and drove it straight into von Stikk’s hand. Miss von Stikk let out a blood-curdling scream.

“I told you to keep your hands off me,” Max growled.

“Max, that was very wrong,” Mr. Dumfrey said, but Thomas was sure he was struggling not to smile. “Miss von Stikk is only trying to help, misguided though she may be in her methods.”

“We don’t want no help,” Max said.

“Any,” Pippa said. Max glared at her. Pippa blushed and turned to face Miss von Stikk. “We don’t want any help. We want to stay with Mr. Dumfrey.”

Miss von Stikk was cradling her injured hand to her chest. Her nostrils flared with every breath. She reminded Thomas very much of a bull when confronted by a red flag. “I have no need of further proof,” she said in a voice strangled with fury. “You have raised these children to be animals. You are unfit to be their caretaker, and I intend to prove it. Good day to you, Mr. Dumfrey. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”